


By the Light of the Moon

by adaille



Series: Vintacles [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Art, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Friends to Lovers, From Sex to Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, NSFW Art, Plant sex, Sex to Friends, Smut, Sort Of, Tentacle Sex, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Vintacles, Witch Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-05-21 02:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14906363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaille/pseuds/adaille
Summary: Cas is a witch, and is irritated that his hot neighbor keeps stumbling through his garden on his way home whenever he strikes out at the local bar. When a drunken Dean urinates on one of Cas’s plants, Cas has reached his limit - but Dean’s limit is nowhere near where Cas expected it to be.###He warmed up his throat with a series of chants, then began gathering energy in his hands.*Snap*Shit. No. No, no, that was not someone stepping on a branch. Deer lived in the woods. It was a deer.He clenched his jaw, and refocused his energy again.*Rustle*Energy. In his hands. Focus.*Rustle, crackle, rustle rustle, snap*Dammit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently writing Pierced didn’t fully scratch the itch I had for fics involving Cas penetrating Dean with the local flora.
> 
> Also, now that I have a stylus for my tablet, I'm teaching myself how to draw people. As motivation/inspiration, I decided to add art to this fic as I figure things out and practice different styles. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> The lovely [suckerfordeansfreckles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/suckerfordeansfreckles/pseuds/suckerfordeansfreckles) beta read this fic for me. Thank you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings are posted at the end.
> 
> NSFW art at the end of the chapter, beneath the ###.

**— Castiel —**

On three separate nights, Cas had tried to cast the same spell. Three nights of missed sleep. Three nights of failures.

Three. Damn. Nights.

“I’m going to finish this before sun’s light, Mother willing.” He squinted at the moon. Was that a hint of grey on the outer edge? Was his window of opportunity gone for this lunar cycle?

“It’s not fair, nature magic being so sensitive. Conjurers have it so easy. Smarmy, cocky assbutts.” He slammed his ingredient bag down next to the small stone ring he’d permanently fixed in a sheltered corner of his backyard.

He studied the woods behind his house, listening for anything out of place before sitting down, legs folded. Crickets and frogs. A distant siren.

No fumbling sounds signaling his hot, irritating, _stupid_ neighbor was taking a shortcut home through Castiel's yard after striking out at the local bar. Not tonight.

Thank the Mother, maybe he really would get this done without the man distracting him tonight after all.

Distracting him because he was loud and Cas had to make sure he hadn’t seriously damaged any of the plants, be they decorative or functional. Not because he was Dean Winchester, with his bright green eyes and his soft-looking lips and his well-fitted clothes and—

No.

The man was loud, and brash. Obnoxious. He’d slept with half the town, or so Cas had heard. The witch kept mostly to himself; he hadn’t done much more than wave at his neighbor over the past few years, and avoid him when he came to check out a book or two.

Cas didn’t even go to the neighborhood cookouts. He was busy.

Officially, Cas worked at the library, which made him sound not busy at all to outsiders, much as his well-tended garden might risk being reported as overgrown had there been an HOA to report it to. But his day job garnered him access to a number of antiquated texts with spellwork he was eager to study, validate, and improve upon.

If he could ever get the peace and quiet to do so.

“All right,” he murmured. “Let’s give this another go, shall we?”

The ingredients were already measured and prepped, sealed individually in their small jars, and Cas made quick work of distributing them to their proper places. He pulled out his photocopy of the spellwork, neatly written in a long-dead language.

He warmed up his throat with a series of chants, then began gathering energy in his hands.

*Snap*

Shit. No. No, no, that was not someone stepping on a branch.

Deer lived in the woods. It was a deer.

He clenched his jaw, and refocused his energy again.

*Rustle*

Energy. In his hands. Focus.

*Rustle, crackle, rustle rustle, snap*

_Dammit._

Maybe he should just say something to the man. Dean didn’t know he was a witch. Probably assumed Cas was fast asleep—

Was...was that a zipper?

He craned his neck to look through the gap between two bushes. Dean was urinating— _urinating_ —on his wisteria, pants halfway down his thighs.

Cas was on his feet before he realized, the energy already pooled in his hands whipping out, invisible but no less powerful. The vines whipped to life, and one whipped hard across Dean’s exposed ass, drawing a startled shriek from the man.

His neighbor flailed, losing his balance, and without thinking, Cas caught him with the vines. He thrashed, and they tightened, lengthened, looping in coils around both legs and arms, holding him in place.

 _Stupid, ignorant, knuckle-dragging neanderthal_ —

Another surge of power, and another vine cracked across the welt left by the first. Dean shrieked again, and redoubled his efforts to free himself. Cas added a vine around his waist.

 _Thoughtless_ —

Two more vines whipped across Dean’s thighs, and he mewled.

 _Careless_ —

The next hit Dean across the top of his thighs, and he squirmed silently.

 _Childish_ —

The next hit so softly, Dean only whimpered and shifted in his bonds.

_Shit. What am I doing?_

The vines fell away from Cas as he pulled his energy back to himself and dropped to his knees. _I haven’t lost my temper like that since...since...ever. Shit._

And using magic like that—

_Fuck._

Witches weren’t rare per se, but they kept to their magic to themselves. It unnerved the general public, and while witch hunts were a thing of the past, even healing and protective magic was best done quietly.

In the backyard, in the middle of the night, for example. Without...without _spanking_ one’s neighbor.

_Shit._

If Dean ever found out he was a witch, he would _know_ what Cas had done.

 _He peed on my wisteria_ —

 _That’s no excuse_ —

 _He drinks and whores around every night_ —

_That’s not any of your business, is it?_

_It is when he drags himself home through my_ —

A groan brought Cas back to the present. Dean hadn’t left?

He peered through the greenery again. His neighbor was on all fours, head hanging, whimpering in pain, shifting his hips...in search of...friction?

Shit. Not whimpering in pain. In arousal. Dean’s cock was bobbing beneath him, swollen and flushed. Cas bit at his lower lip. The man was almost ethereal in the patch of moonlight, red marks—Castiel's marks—across his still exposed flesh.

He sent out power, gently, slowly, re-awakening a single vine, and snaked it towards Dean. It rose up, stroking where the man needed it, and he gasped, thrusting into the coiled greenery. Another spike of energy, and the vine was slick, and Dean sped his pace, whimpering and frantic until he spilled across the ground.

Cas released the vine and sank down again, gripping his head in his hands. When he next glanced up, Dean was gone.

 _What did I just do? Oh, Mother, I violated him. He was drunk and I hit him and I_ —

_Oh, Mother, forgive me._

#

Cas knew it was too much to hope the man would’ve been too drunk to remember what happened. He’d be lucky if he could sit comfortably today, plus he hadn’t been too drunk to get off.

Cas scrunched his nose.

He should apologize. He should go over there, admit to being a witch, and tell Dean—what, exactly? Sorry, I lost my temper when you relieved yourself on my property, so I whipped you, and jacked you off?

Cas had never thought of himself as a coward, but, well, if he was any good at memory spells, he’d be tempted right about now. If not to use it on Dean, to use it on himself.

And he hadn’t even gotten the spell cast. He’d have one, maybe two more nights to try.

_###_

_Castiel meditating before Dean’s interruption:_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:
> 
> I marked this dubcon. Dean consents (and is rather enthusiastic about the whole thing, as he keeps coming back), but things are not discussed/negotiated properly/at all, and they do not agree on a safeword or the stoplight system. The first time Cas whips Dean, it’s in anger and several times Dean is inebriated. If that bothers you, you can skip down to the second scene (after the first ‘#’), or read another one of my less borderline fics.


	2. Chapter 2

**— Castiel —**

Four nights wasted, now. He could spare two more attempts at the most, then he’d need to restock the jars hidden in the back of his pantry under the stairs and try again next lunar cycle.

Cas sighed, and settled deeper onto his hip bones in front of the stone circle, the small bits of powder and oil awaiting his activating magic and the necessary words. One breath in for six counts, hold for four counts, then out for six counts. His energy moved with his breath, down his spine on his inhales, and up his spine on his -

*Rustle*

His eye ticked. But the sound was coming from the wrong direction, as if Dean was—yes, Dean was coming from his house, not from town. The man muttered a curse as he stumbled over something, then fell silent. Unable to bear the suspense, Cas rose onto his knees to take a peek.

_ He knows I’m a witch. He knows I come out here to do spells in the middle of the night. He’s coming to confront me. Shit, shit, shit. I should’ve apologized. I should’ve - _

His neighbor was standing in front of the wisteria plant, rubbing the back of his neck. Sober?

“Fuck, I was really drunk last night, huh? I’d’ve thought that was a helluva hallucination,  but...damn.”

The man reached down, rubbing his ass.

“‘m sorry I, uh, peed? On you.”

He glanced behind him, then brushed his fingers across a vine. “So, uh, how does this work? Are you—”

Well. This was interesting. Pushing his inner voice to the side, Cas gathered power in one hand and sent it outwards, searching for the wisteria in front of Dean. The plant responded, and the end of a tendril twitched.

Of all the lapses in maturity and good judgement Cas had ever had —

At least he was in good company. Dean had noticed the movement, and cupped the vine in his palm. “Hey there.”

Cas pushed more energy out, and the vine squirmed and inched across his neighbor’s hand and up to his forearm. The man squirmed and laughed when it brushed his inner elbow. Ticklish. Better file that away for later.

_ Later? There would be no later with Dean, there would be _ —

Cas pushed his thoughts to the side again in favor of sending a second vine to tease at the skin between Dean’s tank top and the waist of his sweatpants. The man sighed and let his head fall back, eyes closed as the vine teased at the skin just under the elastic. Another crept under his shirt, dragging softly at his tender stomach.

Jealousy towards a plant was a strange feeling. If magic could only let him feel what those vines were touching, he’d explore every inch of the frustrating promiscuous man in his yard and find out what made him tick, what made him -

Suddenly curious, he sent another vine over the shirt and tweaked Dean’s nipple. The man gasped and shuddered, leaning into the touch.

So responsive.

Cas inched closer, crawling on his knees, and tweaked his other nipple. Another gasp, and Dean reached a hand down, rubbing himself through black fabric. A burst of energy sent a vine whipping out to wrap around his wrist, ensnaring it and pulling it to the side.

Dean laughed, breathy and soft. “Okay, okay. I got it.”

The vine softened, stroking his arm. Another dropped down, petting his hair and tickling the short strands at the nape of his neck, and two more joined the ones teasing him under his shirt, pulling him closer to the plant.

The man tensed and flexed in the vines, testing the restraints before sagging into them, head tossed back as if in supplication to the moon, letting the vines do what they wanted to his body. What Cas wanted.

And oh, Cas wanted.

He bit his lip, commanding his wisteria to pull Dean’s arms tight behind him and hold them there, spread his ankles, and —

Cas paused, considering, watching as Dean whimpered and keened, shifting in his bonds. When the vines didn’t respond to his noises and small movements, Dean lifted his head to eye the plant holding him.

“Well?”

_ This is a bad idea, bad, bad, bad idea. I should let him go, it’s not too late to finish the casting, I should _ —

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t stop now.”

Cas felt the shivering heat coil inside him, competing with his magic for his focus.

“Please?” Dean shifted his hips as much as the wisteria would allow, his tiny thrusts as obscene as they were tempting.

_ This is a terrible, terrible _ —

A vine dragged at the waist of Dean’s black pants, tugging them down until they caught on his spread thighs. His half-hard erection bobbed free and rapidly plumped in the cool air. Cas stared, committing to memory the image of Dean in the spot of moonlight, caught in Castiel's plant and exposed. He sent another command to the tendrils holding Dean’s arms, tugging back and down, increasing the arch in the man’s back. Beautiful.

_ He has to know, surely he knows even a witch’s wisteria can’t do this by itself, he has to realize I’m _ —

Dean moaned, low and filthy. Another burst of energy, and the vines whipped into movement, tracing and retracing every bump and crevice on the man’s body at once like so many fingers. Over the cusp of his ear, the nape of his neck, down the side of his jaw, in his hair, his cheek. Both nipples were assaulted, the vines twisting and tweaking as two others traced the line where his thighs connected to his rump, another trailed the crevice between.

_ I bet his bar friends never touch him like this. How much can he take before he begs for his cock to be _ —

“Oh, shit. Fuck. Shit fuck shit. Please, please, c’mon, don’t tease, I can’t, I can’t take it.”

The other vines continued their ministrations, and he added another to cup and roll Dean’s balls, still avoiding the man’s flushed cock. He lifted one small globe, then the other, then tugged them both together.

“Please!”

Another vine lengthened and joined, pressing hard into Dean’s perineum, drawing out a loud gasp.

“Please, just fuck me already!”

A burst of pleasure spilled from Cas into the ground, and he lost control of the vines for just a moment as tiny flowers bloomed around him. That...that was unexpected.

That, Cas could certainly do.

The vines teasing the tops of Dean’s thighs worked upwards, pulling the pale cheeks apart to expose the tiny bit of furled flesh between them.

#

Cas had found his neighbor attractive when he cut his grass or worked on his shiny black car, stripped to his waist in the summer heat.

And the man was beautiful, caught in the moonlight, begging and pleading, dark streaks of green pressed into his freckled skin, holding him still.

But Dean was nothing short of exquisite when he came, clenching tight around the slicked vines Cas sunk deep inside him, sobbing wordlessly in the garden Cas loved.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may come back to these next two chapters later and edit some more. Let me know if anything jumps out at you.

**— Castiel —**

Cas didn’t bother with the spell the next night, not at first. He carried his ingredient bag outside, but he waited, sitting on his back porch for Dean to arrive.

He was going to tell him. He was.

As soon as Dean came in his yard tonight, Cas was going to stand up, march down the garden path, stand right in front of him before Moon and Mother and tell him what he’d done. Just to make sure there wasn’t any doubt, to make sure Dean didn’t think his plant was bewitched, or it was another witch, or fae, or some other nonsense that meant he didn’t realize it was Cas.

That meant he didn’t want Cas the way Cas wanted him.

Hours passed, and Castiel's determination wavered. As if sensing his upset, the tiny owl that lived in the woods behind his house swooped down, setting down on the railing beside him. He absently greeted the bird, sending a tiny flicker of warmth out to brush against sleek feathers.

“Does Dean regret, does he regret what happened?” he whispered to the bird after a moment. “What do you think? Do you think he thinks I’m a freak?”

The bird cocked its head, then turned it completely around, facing the other way. Cas huffed, then realized it was simply looking at Quince. The grey kitten had been attracted by Castiel's voice, and she came to the witch now, jumping up to settle on his lap with a purr.

Cas stroked down her back, scritching his fingers into the soft fur.

“Or did he...do you think Dean went back to the bar tonight?” Was he between someone’s legs right now, grinding against them, moaning those delicious moans that Cas wanted to keep for himself?

He kept his voice low, still whispering to the animals. “It’s not like sex means anything to him. It can’t, can it? If it did, he wouldn’t have so much of it. No one needs to have that much of it. It’s not even that great.”

Was this what it felt like to be someone’s conquest? This burn of jealousy, the sick feeling in his stomach? Cas felt his lip curling into a sneer. He wasn’t anyone’s conquest. He wasn’t new to this; he’d been intimate before, with women, at least.

Both cat and owl were looking at him now, heads tilted.

“Quit it. Of course I was doing it right. It just isn’t as good as people make it out to be.”

A vision of Dean flushed with pleasure and rocking his hips flashed into Castiel's mind. His neighbor had certainly looked like he’d been enjoying himself more than Cas had enjoyed his previous experiences. And Cas...had Cas enjoyed himself more this time than before? Had he even felt that low burn of arousal with Meg and April?

Meg, she’d been flirty and fun, and was a member of another coven that he still chatted with from time to time. They’d made out, done some spell work together, never took it further, but—

“It counted,” he hissed in answer to Quince’s mewl.

April, she—he thought she’d been interested in more, but it had turned out she just needed a round of uncomfortable sex and his blood for some dark magic of her own. Blood magic didn’t do it for him, and neither did sex rituals. As soon as the knife came out, he’d pushed her off, not even bothering to clean their fluids up. He shuddered to think what she might’ve done with them after he left.

“And anyway, it’s messy. And time consuming. And it’s not even like we, like I, like Dean and I did anything, it wasn’t really me, and—” and he didn’t much care for being the victim of a hit-and-run.

But he did care a bit too much for Dean. Dean and his silly grin whenever he interrupted Castiel's work in the library, asking about books that were clearly in a different place from where he was looking. The man had no sense of direction, or awareness of how libraries were sectioned.

Dean, who Cas now had a lingering urge to bend over the bench in his garden while whispering dark promises into his bruised flesh, promises that he’d make him mend his wayward behavior one welt and thrust of his hips at a time.

He crept over to the edge of his garden, peeking through the shrubs lining his property. The shiny black car was gone. Dean wasn’t home, and he wasn’t at the nearby bar either, or he’d have walked to it.

Cas wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or confused by Dean’s break in routine.

#

The spell was finally, finally complete, but it didn’t seem important the next day, now that it was done. His garden was a little greener, the blooms a little larger, but -

“Is it really that different, using esoteric, forgotten magic to bless everything for eighteen months, versus just going to Home Depot and buying fertilizer in bulk?” he asked Quince.

The cat tilted her head, silently watching Cas pour a second cup of coffee from the spot she’d claimed as her own, much as she’d claimed Castiel and Castiel's house for herself as well.

The witch returned to the open book on his kitchen island. Some minor notes here, and few planned improvements for the next lunar cycle there, and Cas set his grimoire out by the open window for the ink to dry.

“Next moon, maybe I’ll test the changes on Dean’s home. He spends a great deal of time on his lawn, but never seems to get it quite the way he wants it.”

But then, that would mean less yardwork with jeans hanging too low on sinful hips, the sun kissing freckles into tanned shoulders.

Cas tried not to look over at his neighbor’s house through the window, or at the still empty parking spot in front of it.

Quince meowed and jumped down, brushing around Castiel's legs in a figure eight, demanding his attention. The witch moved to his refrigerator to retrieve a small bowl of cold chicken and carrots he’d saved from last night’s dinner, and put it on the floor.

“Dean will come back home some time today, and things will either go back to normal, or they won’t. I can’t afford the distraction either way. I have spells to cast, research to do, notes to make, studies to complete. I have, I have twelve lunar peaks a year to get as much spellwork done as I can. Up to sixty chances to cast the more finicky spells each year, if I plan well and I’m not  _ interrupted _ .”

Those chances were what was important here. Not...not whatever that had been a few nights back.

But—how many chances a year would he get to see Dean overcome with pleasure because of something he’d done?

How many chances would he get to see Dean writhing, sobbing, begging for Cas to give him pleasure?

Would he...would he get any more chances?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I added this as part of a double update last week. I’m still rather new at this. Sorry guys!
> 
> NSFW art at the end of the chapter, beneath the ###.

**— Dean —**  

Dean had realized early on that his cute, messy new neighbor was a witch.

People didn’t have to use magic to have the knack with plants Castiel did.

And lots of people had too many letters in their name, not just the covenborne. Maybe his parents were Slavic.

The massive number of ancient books and scrolls he brought in and out of his house could be a librarian thing.

The weird leatherbound book he was scribbling in all the time might be an art journal.

Maybe he didn’t mingle or invite people into his house because he was shy. Very, very shy.

But there were only so many reasons a person could have for twirling naked in their backyard, both hands holding magnolia leaves high overhead, face upturned to the moon. And dammit if the man hadn’t been smooth muscles and henna tattoos and hip bones for days.

It didn’t matter though, did it? Cas barely left his house except for work and groceries. And besides, didn’t witches have to abstain from sex to boost their powers, or something? Dean had heard or read that somewhere, he knew he had.

Cas was probably only attracted to other witches, anyway.

But the man had always been friendly enough whenever Dean ran into him, hadn’t he? He’d thought a time or two the witch might even be interested, but it was hard to tell. Until the other couple of nights, of course, when Dean had gotten off harder than he’d come in months.

Cas’d been so shy up til then, though, Dean wasn’t sure if he was supposed to acknowledge what had happened in the light of day. What happens at moon-peak stays at moon-peak, and all that shit.

But Dean could still feel the sting where Castiel—or Castiel's plant thing—had whipped vines across his thighs, the wooden slats of Sammy’s deck chairs pressing into the welts they’d left behind.

Surely that meant —

“Earth to Dean. Come in, Dean.” Sam nudged him in the ribs with his beer, bringing him back to the present.

“Shit, sorry man.”

He’d planned a guy’s night with Sammy while Eileen was out of town, and was spending it on his brother’s back deck staring off into space thinking about coming with a vine up his ass. Great way to act like everything was business as usual.

“Deep thoughts?”

“Nah. Was just thinking about...um, nature magic and shit. How’s that even work, you know?”

More importantly, did Cas have to control the vines personally, or did he have them set up as a watchdog? Had Cas actually physically been the one who -

“This about your neighbor, Hot Hedge Witch Extraordinaire?”

Dean shot his brother a glare. “His name’s Cas, and don’t call him that. It’s derogatory. Thought you were supposed to be sensitive to other cultures and shit.”

Sam raised a hand in placating apology, then took a long sip from his drink. “You go back to the library again? What happened this time? Let me guess, you asked him to recommend some books similar to Harry Potter and he handed you an in depth study of ceramics throughout the Middle Ages?”

“It’s ridiculous. He spends all day surrounded by popular shit and doesn’t read any of it,” Dean muttered.

“Thought you said he worked in ‘Special Collections’ or whatever.”

“Mm.”  _ He can special my collection. _

_ Shit, that didn’t even make sense. _

“Why don’t you just invite him to the next cookout? Talk to him, like a normal person? Maybe he’ll even stick around for fireworks and you can share a blanket and cuddle.”

Sam made kissy faces at him, but Dean just pushed a hand against his cheek, turning him away.

“Dude, the neighborhood committee scheduled it for the peak of the next lunar cycle. Even if he came, he’d probably show up naked, covered in bees.”

Sam’s beer was midway to his lips when he stopped and lowered it slowly. “The fact that you even know when the next full moon is makes me think you might not mind so much even if he did.”

Dean could feel the flush of heat creeping up his chest and neck. “Shut up.”

#

The following night Benny insisted on coming over with Garth, and then the moon was out of peak, which meant Cas would likely be catching up on sleep for at least a week. Dean knew because he’d read everything he could find about witches over the last few months, little though it was. They were a secretive bunch.

They’d had to be.

Movement flashed at his back door, and he grinned, letting in the small grey cat who’d started stopping by from time to time. Usually when he’d made fish tacos or salmon for dinner.

“Heya, Queenie. Good hunting this week? You haven’t been by as much. I was starting to worry about you.”

The cat mewed and jumped in the sink Dean had installed himself, patting the faucet until Dean turned it on, letting it drip as she rolled under the thin stream.

“What do ya say we hang out here and watch the Star Trek marathon? It’s all Picard tonight.”

Queenie looked at him, her head quirked to the side, legs akimbo as the water shucked off her sleek fur.

He huffed. “Nah, no bar for me. Think I’m, uh, think I’m good on that for a bit. Don’t really want to explain the marks, you know.”

More like he didn’t want to think about how it’d be another week at least until Cas would be out in his yard at night and Dean might could get himself some more marks. Assuming Cas was even the one in control when -

Shit, what if he hadn’t been, and the plant reported back to him somehow? What if he thought Dean was a freak now?

But what if he’d been in control, and he was kind of a freak too? The same kind of freak as Dean?

And anyway, Cas might not even cast when the moon wasn’t full. One of the Internet forums Dean had gotten into mentioned a lot of the less sensitive stuff could be done any time, but Dean had only rarely caught glimpses of the other man outside at night, and it’d only been when the moon was at its brightest. Maybe he only cared about the big stuff, like some kind of witch diva.

Maybe he should print one of the cookout fliers off the neighborhood Facebook group and wedge it in Castiel's door frame tomorrow to remind him. If he wanted to go.

See how he reacted to seeing Dean again, before going back in his yard. Figure out the lay of the land, so to speak.

Just in case.

###

_Castiel with feathers painted on his skin in henna, dancing with the leaves:_

(I know magnolia leaves are more rounded than pointy, but I wanted to keep the feather theme going so I took artistic liberty.)


	5. Chapter 5

**— Castiel —**

Cas was—in his mind—already late for work when the little flutter of white caught his eye. A small burst of irritation sparked down his arm as he picked up the paper.

“I’ve never ordered Chinese from any of you, and I obviously don’t need lawn care. What is with you door litterers?” He unfolded the paper, twisting it open in his hands.

Oh.

The neighborhood cookout.

Right.

He’d forgotten it was that time of year again. Not that it mattered, other than he had to be careful no one saw him outside doing—well, anything ‘witchy’.

He’d never gone before, and he wasn’t going to go now, so why —

_ Dean would be there. _

No. No, he wasn’t going to go just to see Dean in the daytime. He wasn’t going to —

_ Dean Dean Dean. _

He wasn’t some sort of creepy stalker who needed to track where and when his, his whatever was going to be and then arrange some sort of meeting with the -

_ Deeeeaaaan. _

No.

He darted back inside, tossed the paper at the open trash can he used for compostable items, and slammed the door a little harder than necessary on the way out.

At this rate, he’d be lucky if he had his fifteen extra minutes to settle in before his shift started.

#

When he came home, Quince was washing her paw on the floor in the kitchen, right next to—

_ Dammit. _

His aim had been off. The cookout flier must’ve fallen to the floor instead of making it in the can.

He growled as he picked up the paper and dropped it on top of the leftover stems and stalks in the bin for the second time that day. He turned away to get some chicken from the fridge. Chicken and rice sounded nice, maybe with some of the round heirloom squash from his —

*Crash*

Whipping around, he saw Quince sitting innocently by the overturned trash bin. It hadn’t been overfull, so nothing had spilled, except —

The flier. The bit of paper was light enough to be jostled loose, and it had floated and slid until it had come to rest against the baseboard.

“Quince, what has gotten into you? You never make a mess. Do that again and I’ll be the only one dining on chicken tonight.”

The grey cat watched silently as he retrieved the paper, uprighted the bin, jabbed the paper inside, and placed some debris on top to trap—and hide—the offending document. Her tail swished, disapproval as clear as if she’d raised her brow.

“Fine, I’d still give you chicken. A small piece. Half your normal amount. Unless you were still hungry and needed more, then you could have the rest I suppose. But I mean it, don’t do that again.”

#

The next morning, when he went to let Quince out, he noticed the flier sitting out on the floor by the bin.

He glanced down at the cat by his feet, but she studiously looked away, out the door.

“What, you want me to go to this thing?”

_ Stupid thing to say. She can’t read. She doesn’t even know what it says.  _ Cas picked the bit of paper up, dusted off the specks of trash, and stuck it to his fridge with a magnet before letting her outside. “I need to buy you some cat toys, if you’re going to be rummaging in the bin all the time.”

#

Dean didn’t come back that week. Or the week after. Not that Cas was looking for him, or anything.

He was just concerned. About his plants, not his neighbor. Because his neighbor could damage or urinate on his plants, you know, not because -

Oh, who was he trying to fool, anyway?

He’d creeped Dean out. Sure, the man had come back the second night, but who knew how upset he’d been after it was all said and done?

Besides, Cas had been doing so much spellwork in the evenings while he waited, he’d almost used up his stash of the more common ingredients. He needed to take some time off from his night work and restock and plan for the next lunar cycle.

More sleep for a little while would be nice.

He wasn’t sulking.

He wasn’t.

#

Cas was jarring a batch of honey mead he’d made courtesy of the beehives in the corner of his garden when an errant thought made its way into his mind.

_ Would Dean like to try some of this? _

_ No, no, no. Don’t even think about _ —

And anyway, with his car and his leather jacket and his, his  _ everything _ , he’d be the kind of guy who liked beer and tequila. This was too sweet.

Bad kind of sweet, or the kind that would make him flick his tongue out, licking away any errant drops, leaving his lips spit slick and shiny?

_ Mmm. _

Would it be worth it to take some to the cookout, just to see?

From a purely scientific perspective, of course. Not because Cas wanted to see him up close and in the sunlight. Not because Cas missed him, or anything stupid like that.

No. No, it was better not to go. He had work to do that night.

But he could pop in just for a few hours and eat, share a few drinks, then be back in his yard in time for the moon to climb.

No. He’d need to act like nothing had happened the whole time, in case what happened made Dean upset, and that was why Dean was avoiding his yard. He’d need to pretend it was just some weird plant thing, then they could get to know each other on their own terms, and -

And he was a bad actor. Terrible. The whole thing was a bad idea. Ill advised. Socializing like some kind of...socializer.

No, he’d stay here. Same as always.

He yanked the flier off his fridge and balled it up, dropping it in the trash.

#

This time, he dug the flier back out himself an hour later, smoothed it, and stuck it to the fridge. No meddling cats required.

#

The next morning, he threw it away again.

#

Back on the fridge.

#

Back in the can.

#

Fridge.

#

Can.

#

Fridge.

#

_ Can. _

###

_Quince with the flier:_

(I followed a tutorial for the shape and outline, then added additional detail, shading, and the flier.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update today! A bit early since I’m not sure I’ll have time Wednesday.
> 
> The lovely [suckerfordeansfreckles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/suckerfordeansfreckles/pseuds/suckerfordeansfreckles) has come on board and beta read these two chapters, and the ones to follow! Thank you!

**— Dean —**

Cas was here. Cas was  _ here _ .

Now was his chance. He could find out if the other man was acting strange or not. If he knew what had happened or not, if he was freaked out by what had happened, or if he—

Dean wiped his hands down the front of his jeans, shifting his beer from one hand to the other. A woman who lived further down the road—Janet? Jill? Judy?—continued droning on beside him, but his ears filled with static.

_ Should I say hi? I should say hi. Would that be weird, saying hi? Gotta play this cool. Gotta be chill. _

Castiel moved gracefully through the crowd, his body stiff, careful not to brush against anyone. Dean tried to catch his eye, but the man headed to the cooler, setting a few brown bottles he’d brought in the ice. He kept two, then drifted near Dean. Nearer. Nearer. Shit, he was standing  _ right beside _ Dean, and—shit, what happened to personal space?

“Hey! Hey, Cas. Glad you could make it for once.” He winced. That came out ten kinds of wrong. “I mean, um, good to see you, man. Not that I don’t see you often, I live next door, you know, so I see you all the time, but -- I don’t see-see you, you know, and it’s always good to see-see you. Um. Not that, not that I’m  _ seeing  _ you. So. Uh—”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hiya, Cas.”

Cas squinted, looking at the lady beside Dean. “I’m Castiel.”

“Mindy. Pleasure.” Her voice sounded anything but pleased.

_ Shit, I could’ve sworn her name started with a ‘J’. _

Cas nodded once before holding out one of his two bottles to Dean. “Would you care to try some mead?”

“Um, sure, sure. Let me just—” Dean shoved his half-full bottle of beer blindly behind him, pleased when he felt it settle onto some sort of hard surface that may or may not have been a table.

He took a tentative sip, then a longer drag once the sweet smokiness hit the back of his throat. It was good, really good. Shit, who’d’ve pegged Cas as an alcohol connoisseur?

His tongue chased a few errant drops from his lips, then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he turned the bottle, looking for a label. There wasn’t one. “Where’d you get this?”

“I made it.”

Oh. Wow. Well, that explained the intense way Cas was watching him drink it. “It’s really, really good.”

“Can I try it?” Mindy pressed against Dean’s side, her hand reaching for the bottle’s neck.

The corners of Castiel's mouth pulled down. “I brought several more bottles. They’re in the cooler by the food.”

She giggled, grabbing for the bottle again. “I just want a sip. C’mon, Dean, alcohol doesn’t carry germs. Not that  _ you’re _ worried about germs, anyway.” She nudged him in the side, too happy with her own joke.

Dean winced. Great. That was an awesome thing to say in front of Cas. Thanks for that. Seriously, what the fuck. He’d slept around a bit, sure, but he wasn’t nasty. He’d been careful. Used protection. Got tested regularly. 

Is that what people thought about him? That he was, what, some kind of—

_ Joke, Dean. Breathe. You can take a joke. _

Dean shifted the bottle away from her, trying for subtle but clearly failing if her expression was anything to go by. For some reason, he really, really didn’t want to share Castiel's mead. “Um, hey, you should grab one for yourself. You’re gonna want more than just a sip, trust me.”

Mindy left with a huff and a toss of her hair over her shoulder. Dean’s eyes followed her on her way to the cooler, watching as she was distracted by someone else, pulling them into a hug.

“That isn’t true, you know,” Cas spoke, too close.

Not close enough.

Chills crept up and down Dean’s arms and back. Heaven or Moon or whatever help him, that voice does things to him.

“What’s not true?”

“Alcohol does carry some germs. Although it is better to drink fermented beverages in rural areas with poor water supplies.”

“Oh?”  _ Smooth, Winchester. _

“That’s actually why the midwest doesn’t have very many wild apples anymore.”

“Um, really?”

“Do you know about Johnny Appleseed?”

Dean felt like he’d completely lost control of this conversation, but he was talking to Cas. To  _ Cas _ . And talking to Cas was something he’d wanted to do for weeks, so if the man wanted to talk about how the earth was flat and the moon landing was faked and vikings were secretly Illuminati, Dean was happy just to listen to his voice.

Cas seemed unconcerned by his silence. “He planted a lot of orchards in the midwest.”

“Yeah, yeah, we read about him in middle school. Hippy do-gooder guy, walked around barefoot, planting trees.”

“No, actually, he was a businessman.”

“What?”

“Yes. To qualify as a homestead, you had to have a certain number of trees planted for a certain number of years in advance. He went ahead, planted orchards, then sold the mature plots to families who didn’t want to wait.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s smart. The book, um, it didn’t focus on that part.”

“Mm. Books are not infallible. I find myself often having to make...corrections. Additions. But birds spread the seeds, so in a way, he was also a hippy do-gooder guy, as you said.”

“Thought you said the midwest didn’t have many wild apples?”

“No, the homesteaders were using the apples to make hard cider. The government had many of the trees cut down during prohibition, wild ones included.”

Dean felt oddly pleased, as if he’d just heard an unexpected punchline to a very long joke. “Fermented drinks are safer to drink in rural areas, after all.”

“Indeed.”

Things were going great. Conversation with Cas was even easier than he’d hoped. Dean felt himself relaxing, drinking mead and chatting about apples and cider and bees and mead and pie. Friendship status well underway. And once they were friends—once they were friends, he could bring up what happened in the yard, and this agonizing month-long dry spell could have a satisfying conclusion.

Yeah, things were going great.


	7. Chapter 7

**— Castiel —**

Things were not going well at all. He couldn’t tell if Dean suspected he’d had a more direct involvement in what happened, or not. And he had no idea how Dean would feel about that, either.

Disappointingly, his neighbor had seemed very flustered around Mindy. He had trouble focusing on his words in a way Cas had never seen before when it had just been the two of them at the library. He wasn’t sure if it was because Dean wanted to sleep with her, or if he already had. Once she left, he’d calmed down considerably.

Weren’t people nervous around those they desired in a carnal way?

It made sense, Dean moving on. The man had achieved orgasm in his yard, once drunk, once sober, and then hadn’t returned. He’d overheard the mantra ‘hit it and quit it’ in reference to a one night stand from a group of drunken college students during one of his rare visits to the local night life with Meg. It seemed to fit in this case, too.

The beautiful, frustratingly promiscuous man was chattering away next to him, his hands waving expressively at someone whose name Castiel had already forgotten, and Cas felt himself withdrawing. This had been a mistake. It was hard not to look at his arms and picture them wrapped in vines, or covered in bruises from Castiel's fingers.

He cut in midway through one of Dean’s stories. “I’m sorry, it’s getting late. I need to go.”

Was that a flicker of disappointment in Dean’s eyes? No, it must’ve been a glimmer of refracted light. Nothing more.

“Yeah, yeah, sure man. Gotta be home before sunset, yeah?” 

Cas sharpened. That was an odd thing to say. Did he—did he know? That Cas was a witch? “Excuse me?”

“I mean, don’t you have to get up early to, um, go to work and do librarian stuff?” 

Oh. Of course. “Yes, I leave for work quite early in the morning.”

“Yeah. Glad you came, man. Don’t be a stranger, ok?” Dean wasn’t quite slurring his words, but the alcohol had made him wobbly.

“I’m not a stranger, Dean. We are neighbors and acquaintances already. You know my name.”

Dean’s laugh was as gorgeous as his orgasm, head tossed back, body bent. “Yeah, man. Hey, we could try friends?”

Cas squinted, trying his best to peer beneath the surface of Dean’s words. The other man calmed and stilled, returning his gaze quietly until Charlie coughed. “Yes. Ok.”

“Great. See ya around?”

“Of course.”

#

Castiel had trouble settling into his spellwork, and wound up sitting cross-legged by his grimoire, stroking Quince’s head.

It wasn’t the end of the world if he missed a night. Besides, bad things could happen when you cast with half a mind on something else.

*Rustle*

He startled hard enough to dislodge the cat from where she’s leaning against his leg, and she darted away.

A stick cracked under a too heavy foot. Cas scooted forward on his knees, searching for the source of the sound, his heart aching.  _ Dean? _

It  _ was _ Dean. And he was extremely inebriated. Oh no.

Cas tried to remember how many bottles of mead he’d seen the other man drink. He should’ve warned Dean that the alcohol content was much, much higher in his mead than beer—close to 20%, in fact. Maybe he hadn’t known that was common for homebrews.

“Heyyyyy there. Heya, plant. Nice night for a...for plant things. Amiright?”

Was Dean flirting with his wisteria?

A stab of jealousy coursed through Cas. Of course Dean was interested in the plant that gave him two glorious orgasms, not boring, weird Castiel who didn’t understand any of the references Dean made and didn’t know how to talk to people unless it was about trees or bees.

And the ability for vegetation to be possessed—even sentient—was supposedly common knowledge among non-magical people, even if witches knew it was rubbish.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna, you know?”

Cas watched. It was better to stop this now. If he was going to have any chance at being Dean’s friend, indulging the man when he was drunk was a terrible—

“You mad at me?” Dean glanced around, no doubt checking the shadows to make sure he was alone. “You mad ‘cause I didn’t come see you for a whole month? Didja even notice?”

His neighbor reached out a hand, stroking down a vine as if it was a lover’s arm. “I know, ya know, about full moons and all that shit. I know. I read. Books, lots of books. All kinds of books.”

Dean knew...what exactly?

“Knew I didn’t have a chance if the moon wasn’t at peak lunar cycle, and...and, shit—” He leaned over, gagging slightly, but managed not to vomit on Castiel's mulch. 

How attractive.  _ I really should’ve warned him about the mead. _

Wait. Did Dean think the plant was only awake when the moon was full? And he said—he said ‘peak lunar cycle’. Had he been reading about witches, or talking to one?

A bolt of clarity shot through him.  _ He knows I’m a witch. Dean knows I’m a witch. Shit shit shit shit— _

“C’mon. Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.”

_ Dean knows, he knows, what if he tells? He wouldn’t tell. If he was going to tell, he’d have said something at the cookout. _

“You got such beautiful blue, I mean, I mean  _ purple  _ flowers. Yeah.” He rubbed his hips suggestively against the woody stalk, rutting slowly.

The filthy moan Dean let out stole Castiel's breath, and he felt the stirrings of arousal fighting his panic, and eventually winning.

“C’mon, don’t you want to watch me—I mean, don’t you, don’t you want to see me—” Dean groaned again, tossing his head back, hips still circling.

Yes.

Yes, Cas did want to watch him come undone again. Mother and Moon help him, he did.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who didn’t see the note I added to the beginning of the fic, I finally got a stylus for my tablet, and I’ve been a) figuring out how to draw on my tablet, and b) teaching myself how to draw living creatures. 
> 
> I thought you guys might enjoy seeing some of my early efforts, so I added some art to Chapters 1, 4, and 5. If you like them, I’ll do a few more for this story.

**— Dean —**

The vine finally started to play with him, but it was gentle. Probing. Nice, but not enough.

Dean wanted, he _wanted_.

He’d been good for a month, didn’t he deserve some kind of punishment?

Wait, did that, was that—shit, his brain. Reward. He’d meant reward. Fuck Cas and fuck his mead and fuck his plant.

Fuck him for not fucking Dean.

Sure, he’d decided earlier that being friends first and then courting Cas like some kind of blushing belle was a great idea, but right now he was horny and it’d been a month with nothing but his hands and Cas should be outside _right now_ and—

Shit, was Cas a virgin witch? Maybe he couldn’t fuck Dean. Maybe he wasn’t allowed, or there was some kind of cosmic penalty.

Maybe the only thing he could do was this, this, whatever this was. And watch while it happened, in secret.

Dean shivered as the vine continued to pet him, and he started stripping slowly.

If Cas just wanted to watch, well. Dean could put on a show. He’d never been much of an exhibitionist, but he’d had several firsts already in this yard. What was one more?

#

Even naked, the vines didn’t go where Dean wanted them, even as they helped support him. He even tried grabbing one and guiding it between his legs, or rubbing his half-hard cock against another one, but they stayed clear of his most sensitive areas.

Petting him like some sort of cat. Trying to calm him.

Fuck that. He didn’t want calm and soft, he wanted them to whip him and shove inside him like they had before. He wanted to feel this for days, for all the days between now and the next full moon.

What did a guy have to do to get a little roughed up around here?

He was running out of time. All that mead and beer had gone right through him, and he didn’t have the urge to throw up anymore, but he did have the urge to—

To pee.

He glanced down, then looked around the yard again, trying to spot Cas. Fuck, if he wanted to play things that way—

Dean gripped the base of his cock, shook it lightly, then aimed a stream at the base of the plant.

He felt the air displace before the blow came, the vine landing square across the crease between his upper thighs and his cheeks. The shriek hadn’t finished leaving his mouth before a vine shoved in over his tongue, muffling his scream. The tendrils that had been stroking him turned iron-hard, snapping his limbs behind his back and folding him over and holding him. Holding him while two others alternated leaving welts all the way up and down his thighs and both cheeks.

He thrashed, both legs still free but unable to find purchase or block the blows without being streaked themselves. After one particularly brutal strike against the bottom of his foot, he tried to stay still as best as he could. It’s what he wanted, after all.

He was so close. So, so close. He could feel calm settling over him, the drunken haze clearing from his brain, then bliss coiling inside, then—

The vines slowed, and stopped. He growled around the ones stuffing his mouth full, sucking on them as he pushed another burst of yellow fluid from his body, still defiant.

His punishment—his reward—was immediate. This time, Cas—the vines—didn’t stop until Dean was sobbing, sucking eagerly on the vines in his mouth, canting his hips into each blow, desperately hard and aching.

When a thin, slicked tendril finally shoved inside his unstretched hole, punching his prostate with eerie precision, he came hard enough to see stars.

#

Damn, that had been stupid.

The sunlight streaming into his living room wasn’t kind to his hangover, and it was the kind of morning after he hadn’t had since his early twenties.

He hadn’t even made it upstairs last night. Classy. The clothes he’d gathered and brought back home with him were dumped in a pile beside the couch, and made a nice pillow.

It was a wonder he hadn’t left a trail of clothing from Castiel's yard to his. It was a wonder he hadn’t thrown up and aspirated.

He shifted, feeling his body light up with pain. Shit, so stupid. He’d never officially gotten into the BDSM scene—mostly due to his trust issues—but even he knew people weren’t supposed to do shit like that drunk. Dulled your pain tolerance, made you go farther than you otherwise would’ve.

But—

He shifted again. Fuck, it still felt so good, being marked up like this. It wouldn’t last until next time, but he’d have a good reminder for the next few days. If anything, he wished Cas had done his back, too. Maybe the tops of his thighs.

The only thing better would be if Castiel himself was here, pressing fingers into the marks, re-igniting the burn, then pressing his fingers into—

Fuck, now he was half hard.

He needed to get up, get some coffee, take a shower, and…do something today. Adult things. Anything. But really, did it matter? Would anyone even care if he just laid here, pathetic and needy, fantasizing about someone who couldn’t even touch him without risking lessening his magic?

Because that’s what it was, right? Or maybe Cas just got off on watching.

His stomach sank. Surely Cas had been watching, right? Dean hadn’t seen him, but the moon was full. And everyone knew witches and full moons went together like...like things that go together really well.

But Castiel had been drinking, too. Would Cas have drank his own devil mead if he’d been planning to cast that night?

Did witches do shit like that drunk? If so, was _Cas_ the kind of guy to do shit like that drunk?

What if Cas hadn’t even been outside? What if he’d bewitched his plant, and it just...did things? On its own?

What if, ew, what if Dean was having weird freaky sex with a plant instead of—well, ok, he was having that either way, but at least when Cas was in control and watching it didn’t seem—but now—

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure when exactly urination became synonymous with consent, but there you go. People are strange, weird, wonderful creatures—Dean most of all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another double update for you lovelies.
> 
> Thank you as always to suckerfordeansfreckles! <3

**— Castiel —**

Cas paced back and forth in his living room, Quince tracking him with a turn of her head each and every time he passed by.

“I can’t believe I did that again. I wasn’t—we were going to try for friends, and he’s—what if he’s just really into plants?”

She tilted her head, but didn’t respond.

“I mean, wouldn’t he have said something at the cookout if he knew? Or just, I don’t know, come and knock on my door? Instead of—ugh!” Castiel reached up and gripped his hair, twisting and yanking at the strands between his fingers.

“I just, I don’t—” _I don’t understand people. I don’t understand Dean._

_I want to, I just. I just don’t._

#

Cas opened his phone several times that day, and the next, each time peering at the text Dean had sent at the cookout when they exchanged numbers. The little ‘hey this is Dean ;)’ taunted him.

“I should invite him over. He said we were friends, right? That’s what friends do.” His fingers stroked gently through Quince’s short fur, feeling out the soft rumble quivering beneath her ribs. “Is it too soon? It’s probably too soon. Do you think it’s too soon?”

Timing aside, it’d be a good way to find out if Dean had an interest in him, or a...a plant fetish. He could even leave a few suggestive things out, nothing so obvious as his grimoire or the other texts, but maybe some of his ingredients. Things he could pass off as ‘herbs’ if Dean took it badly. If Dean didn’t already know he was a witch.

“We could watch a movie. A movie with _plants_ in it. Yes, that‘d be perfect.” And if Dean reacted the same way he had in the yard, then Cas would know.

Quince licked his hand when he got lost in thought and forgot to keep petting her, and Cas resumed the soft strokes, planning ahead.

#

Castiel usually didn’t have his phone out at the library; he was too absorbed in his work—and the few people who had the number rarely messaged him on it, anyway. But two days later, there was a tiny ‘1’ next to the messenger icon.

He coughed to clear the sudden lump in his throat, finger slipping as he thumbed it open, forcing him to try several times.

> **Dean** : hey so this might be too soon but do you want to hang out this weekend

_Yes yes yes yes yes_

> **Cas** : YeS

And his finger slipped again. _Shit. Shit shit shit._

> **Cas** : Yes, I believe I am available. I will need to check, however.

> **Dean** : great! your place or mine?

Cas stared down at the words, over analyzing them as the minutes ticked by. Your place or mine, your place or mine—was Dean flirting with him? This was good, this was -

> **Dean** : sorry, just being silly. Didn’t mean to scare you off

> **Dean** : we can meet at the roadhouse if you want? they have great burgers. beer’s ok, not like yours or anything

He worried at the edge of his lip, trying not to scowl at the phone. The Roadhouse, of all places. The stupid bar Dean was always stumbling to and back from across Castiel's property. Or—he used to, and he certainly hadn’t been going for the _burgers_. Had he? No, of course not.

Cas didn’t think he could stomach seeing Dean there, in his element, flirting with waitresses and maybe even picking up women. Wanting Cas to be a good friend and help him attract new partners.

No.

No no no. That wouldn’t work at all. Besides, his _plan_.

> **Cas** : I’d rather spend a quiet night in.

> **Cas** : Would you like to watch a movie? We can order food and eat, too.

> **Cas** : There’s a Chinese place that is always leaving fliers in my door.

The dots appeared at the bottom of the screen as Dean typed. Then disappeared. Appeared. Disappeared.

Cas caught himself gnawing at the edge of his cuticle, and forced his hand down to his side.

Appeared.

Dammit, what was taking him so long? Had Cas been too forward? Did it...did it count as the ‘dinner and a movie’ Meg was always joking about?

Oh no. What if Dean interpreted it romantically, and didn’t want it to be rom -

> **Dean** : sounds great

> **Dean** : i can come over when I get off work friday

> **Dean** : or later works too. i’ll need to shower anyway

_Don’t picture Dean in the shower. Don’t picture Dean in the -_

But oh, he would look delicious, with water streaming down his skin and steam flushing his cheeks. Or better yet, with rain drizzling down his bared muscles in the garden, hair plastered down and eyes half-closed, moving against Cas as they -

Castiel shook himself. _Stop that._

> **Cas** : Whenever you like.

#

Cas researched movies that would be suitable, but there weren’t very many to choose from. No wonder Dean was so excited to find Castiel's wisteria, if indeed he had a plant fetish. He wouldn’t have very many outlets for his proclivities.

He finally settled on Little Shop of Horrors after asking advice from a co-worker about popular movies with sentient plants. When Dean arrived, smelling like soap and sandalwood and _male_ , Cas proposed the film. Dean smiled and said it sounded great, and didn’t act as if he’d seen it multiple times, or as if he’d rewound and rewatched any of the ‘good parts’ in his teenage years, as Castiel's covenmates had enjoyed doing.

But then Dean also said the food was great, and it most certainly was not. Cas had eaten Chinese food before, and this was not Chinese food. The delivery man had been Korean, and when he’d ordered, Cas had had to order in _English_. Everything tasted like cold grease and too salty soy sauce and the worst kind of molecules.

Maybe Dean had a habit of saying things were great when they were merely adequate.

He’d also said he had a _great_ time when he left Castiel's house at the end of the night. Maybe he’d had a _merely adequate_ time.

Although, perhaps not. Midway through the film, Dean had gotten an erection, which did indicate his neighbor was enjoying some part of the evening.

Dean had clearly been aroused by the imagery on the screen, though fortunately he stopped responding once the plant started eating people. That was fortunate, at least. An attraction to Castiel's wisteria instead of Cas was disappointing, but Cas could work with that. A need for the plant to be—or appear to be—carnivorous would’ve been harder to work with, ethically.

He didn’t know of any spell work that could make a plant act on its own, but he’d been resourceful in the past. With proper research, and testing, perhaps he could give Dean what he needed. A living plant, without Cas being the strange, creepy neighbor controlling it without Dean’s knowledge.

Then there would be no need to tell him what Castiel had done those few times at all. They could be friends without the shadow looming over them, and Dean could still have his needs met. And since it was an outdoor area, if Cas still wanted to watch, well, it wasn’t like there was any guarantee of privacy when you were outside, was there?

It was worth considering, at any rate.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fourth bit of art on this fic is at the end of the chapter. Let me know what you think! <3

**— Dean —**

Dean had gotten off work thirty minutes early; he’d been too distracted to focus most of the afternoon, anyway. Then he’d wasted the extra time showering and changing his clothes three times before settling on an old Zeppelin t-shirt and threadbare jeans. Queenie had stared at him the entire time, and he couldn’t tell if she was judging him or not.

“It’s not a date,” he’d told her. “ I don’t need to dress up.”

He didn’t.

He wouldn’t.

Plus, the soft fabric had felt nice in all the places he was still sore, the places where Castiel had laid into him with the vines— _I hope it was Cas, please let it have been Cas_.

He’d fed Queenie and left her in the kitchen, and headed across the boundary between their yards, beer in hand. Cas had opened the door almost as soon as he’d gotten a single knock in, no doubt able to see him walking over through the kitchen window.

Things had gone well at first. Cas had seemed very glad to see him, and he’d clearly tidied up before Dean came over. At least, Dean hoped he had, because his house was nearly pristine compared to Dean’s, other than a bit of animal hair on the furniture. He’d started to ask Cas about it, but then the food was there.

The food they’d ordered was okay, but Cas seemed unsure about it, and Dean felt the need to reassure him by saying that it was great. Because even if the food itself was only passable, Dean getting to eat any kind of food at Castiel's house _was_ great.

Cas had picked Little Shop of Horrors for them to watch, which was unexpected. Dean had figured he’d signed up for a night of documentaries, or something indie. He’d seen it years ago, but didn’t mention that to Cas, who’d seemed so excited to be showing Dean the film. And he’d seemed extremely interested in how Dean was enjoying it—the man had watched him more than the movie most of the night, though Dean pretended he couldn’t see him watching in his peripheral vision. He must’ve been a classic horror buff, and didn’t get many people who shared his enthusiasm.

So everything considered, things _had_ gone well—at first. But then Dean drifted, the previously-seen film not enough to hold his attention when Cas was a solid wall of heat next to him on the couch. The man seriously had no sense of personal space. They were almost touching. He could _feel_ him staring, and breathing, the soft rise and fall of his chest moving his arms enough to shift the air against Dean’s shoulder.

And then Castiel's hand just had to settle right there on Castiel's thigh, and oh shit his thigh was thicker than Dean had realized, and would definitely feel amazing against the spots where Dean was still tender, and suddenly Dean was half hard.

Cas had apparently noticed, because he’d tensed, and the next time he got up, he sat down farther away. Which should’ve helped Dean’s not-so-little problem, but it was too late. Any hope of watching the film was gone when Dean couldn’t help but notice that everything smelled like Cas, and every time Cas shifted on the couch it jolted the cushions and Dean could feel it against the still-pink marks across his ass.

The more Cas grew distant, the more Dean’s erection wouldn’t cooperate, and…he’d blown it. He’d kind of hoped at first, embarrassing as it was, that things might end up like in a bad porno in some way. Cas would see the accidental chub and say something like ‘would you care for some assistance with that, Dean?’ and of course Dean would say _yes_ , and everything would be great.

But everything was not great, and Cas was clearly not into helping Dean with his erection, nor was he into Dean’s erection in general, and probably not Dean either, since Dean was now the weird guy who got a boner in the middle of their first not-date.

Fuck.

#

He left Castiel's house more nervous and awkward than he’d been on the way over. Should he apologize? Should he just...tell Cas what had happened? Explain he was into him?

But Cas had pulled back. Had it been because of that? What if he hadn’t noticed at all, then if Dean had brought it up, fuck—this was worse than high school. He needed to find someone to talk to who was better at all this than he was. Someone who was like Sam, but wouldn’t tease him or keep asking about how things were going or push him. Also, someone who wasn’t his cat.

For her part, Queenie was irritated at being locked inside while he was away, and bolted out the door in a grey blur as soon as he opened it.

“Thanks, sweetie! So glad to see you’re interested in how things went, and all!” he called after her, then sighed.

Fuck. How had he fucked this up so bad? Cas had been seriously freaked out, there was no two ways around it. With the whole virgin witch thing, he probably hadn’t even seen much of -

Wait. The virgin witch thing.

Maybe Castiel hadn’t been freaked out by Dean getting excited over the too-close proximity after his month of good behavior. Maybe he was just nervous that Dean was going to suck Castiel's powers out through his cock, or however the hell that worked.

He stepped back off his stoop, and headed back over to Castiel's yard. If Cas had gotten as worked up as he had tonight, maybe he’d be in his backyard, meditating or whatever witches did when they weren’t casting. Maybe he’d be up for some stress relief.

That was a lot of maybes, but Castiel's yard drew him in like it was home to a siren. A siren named Castiel.

###

_Queenie, being a sweet girl:_


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW art at the end of the chapter, beneath the ###.

**— Castiel —**

Quince wouldn’t stop meowing at the back door while Cas was cleaning up, and he finally stopped what he was doing to let her in. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Is there—wait, where are you—Quince?”

The small grey cat darted off, and Castiel's eyes moved to track her, stopping when they landed on—

_Dean._

Cas breathed out slowly. What was Dean doing, stumbling back towards his yard? He’d just left not ten minutes ago, and now...and now...oh. Yes, of course. The plant in the movie had gotten him all worked up, and now Dean needed to burn off that energy with the object of his affection.

Cas sighed and slipped outside, shutting the door quietly behind himself, his shoulders sagging. That was that, then. His experiment had been a success, technically, but it felt like the worst kind of failure, sick and curdled in his stomach.

Dean approached the wisteria, but stayed facing away from the long vines, looking around the yard. No doubt checking to make sure he was alone.

“Cas?”

Castiel ducked lower behind a shrub. Dean was clearly being extra careful this time, no doubt worried about ruining their new friendship if he was caught.

“Cas, you out here?”

He sent a small burst of energy towards the vine, waking a tendril and snaking it towards Dean, brushing his cheek, expecting Dean to lean into it. But he didn’t—he brushed it away, pushing it from his face with a flash of—irritation?

“Quit that, c’mon. Not like that, not tonight.”

Did he...did he want it rougher this time? He’d seemed to have a penchant for that before.

He pushed the vine at Dean harder, coiling it tightly around his arm, drawing it back and yanking him against one of the thin iron poles supporting the plant. Dean whimpered as his back slammed against the rod, more vines wrapping tightly around his stomach.

“Fuck, fuck. Ok. Fuck. You know what, fine, this works. C’mon, let me have it.”

One of the tendrils licked up, tugging at the hem of Dean’s shirt, the other vines relaxing enough to let him move. The beautiful man caught on quickly and stripped, his body writhing sensually, putting on a show for his favorite plant. Which was just incredibly stupid and unfair, and made Cas grind his teeth.

Castiel hadn’t realized he’d drifted off into his own thoughts until he was brought back to the present by Dean’s voice. “So, uh, how do you wanna do this tonight?”

First and foremost, Cas wanted to do it with Dean quiet. He’d indulge the man, but he couldn’t stand hearing Dean flirt and talk with his plants while he did it. He pushed a vine out, folded the end over on itself in a loop, then coiled the tip back, making a thick rounded gag to shove in Dean’s mouth. The man keened around the intrusion, his hips bucking up against the vines still loosely coiled around his waist, holding him near the iron bar.

Another set wrapped around his wrists, drawing them straight up over his head and pinning his arms. Dean was already flushing a sweet shade of pink, and Cas wished he was close enough and the light was bright enough to see how that would highlight his freckles. They no doubt looked exquisite.

He slid another set of vines down, tracing his body, listening to the man whimper and groan with his mouth full. He’d realized before that Dean’s nipples were sensitive, as was the skin along the sides of his rib cage and the crease in the tops of his thighs. He exploited that knowledge now, running along the tender spots, teasing, caressing, flicking soft, then harsh, until the man’s cock was hard, curved up against his stomach and leaking thick droplets onto his soft stomach.

It truly was unfortunate that the object of Dean’s affections couldn’t return his desires. The man gave himself over so freely, so readily to his pleasure. Cas wondered if he was this way with his human lovers, or if this level of excitement was only drawn out of him when he indulged in this. This fetish.

Cas wanted to bind his legs, bend him in half at the waist and tie his calves to his thighs, spread him wide and expose him, but then he wouldn’t be able to tell if Dean needed him to stop. He settled for tapping the man’s legs apart, trusting him to stay spread on his own.

The marks he’d left before were still pink on Dean’s thighs and ass, faint but dark enough for Cas to notice when Dean stripped. He pressed vines into those spots now, deciding Dean probably enjoyed the act of being whipped enough to be reminded of the marks. The delightful noises grumbling from the man’s throat and the rocking of his hips proved Castiel correct.

He brought Dean to the edge of desperation, squealing and sobbing and cock jerking, then pulled back, letting him calm down before doing it again. And again. And again.

The last time, even after the vines stilled, Dean didn’t come back down, continuing to writhe and beg muffled pleas, sucking on the vine Cas had shoved against the back of his throat, nearly cutting off his air. His legs shifted in an unending pattern, begging for friction where he was being denied it.

Cas would’ve given anything in that moment to be able to go over, drop to his knees, and swallow Dean down until the man screamed with his release—but that would ruin the fantasy for Dean.

His arousal turned sour, and suddenly Castiel was more than tired of their game. He slicked a vine with his magic, jacked Dean roughly until his release spilled heavy on the leaves, and then slipped away to get inside through the front door while Dean dressed.

###

_Dean enjoying the wisteria vines:_

(I know these are a lot thicker than wisteria vines tend to be, but a) I wanted to make them generic enough they could really be any type of tentacle/vintacle you wanted to imagine, and b) as Alessariel helpfully noted, Cas can use magic to change the vines in whatever way will best suit Dean’s needs.)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another double update today! 
> 
> The next two chapters will post while I’m on my trip next week, then I need to decide which chaptered fic to start posting next.
> 
> I may be posting some already outlined ideas on tumblr this week, feel free to leave me feedback on which you’d like to see first if I do.
> 
> As always, thank you suckerfordeansfreckles for the beta. You’re the best.

**— Dean —**

Shame coiled low in Dean’s stomach the next morning. He hadn’t even been drunk this time, having been more careful with Castiel’s mead now that he knew it could knock him on his ass. No, he was just weak and stupid and had a habit of letting his dick do his thinking for him.

If Cas wanted to watch while Dean got off in his yard, that was one thing, but last night the man still wouldn’t even acknowledge he’d been there out loud. Dean just wanted some kind of confirmation that this...thing...they had going on was actually a thing, and not...something else.

That Cas was aware of their...thing...and—fuck it.

He needed to find out for sure if plants belonging to witches could do shit like this on their own or not. Then he’d know for sure that he was having happy-fun-time sex games with Cas and not making the kind of horrible, depraved mistakes that would leave him feeling sick with confused disgust.

What better place to research witch magic than a library where a witch worked?

#

Dean wasn’t sure of Castiel’s schedule, but he planned to be discreet during his library trip regardless. It’s not like he wanted to broadcast HEY EVERYONE, I’M JUST HERE TO MAKE SURE I GOT JACKED OFF IN A GARDEN AND NOT BY A GARDEN. DON’T MIND ME.

He grabbed a couple of innocuous titles, placed them on top of the new notebook he’d bought just for the occasion, and then slipped into a section with older books in it. As he located the books his internet search indicated were good places to start, he made sure his actual selections had the spines facing towards him, and the top covers were hidden under the books he was pretending to get instead.

He was going back to the stacks on his third attempt to find a relevant text when he ran into Castiel. The man broke out into a blinding smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“Dean, it is so good to see you. What, um, what are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t be smart like you and Sam? You know I read.”

“No, that’s not what I—I just meant, this section of books is—” Cas stopped, glancing pointedly at the top book on Dean’s stack. “It isn’t likely to have information on road trips in...California? Are you going on a vacation soon?”

_ Fuck, now he had to lie.  _ “Um, yeah, I was thinking about it? You know, take in some fresh air, see the sights.”

“Oh, I see. Yes, fresh air is—” Cas stalled again, his eyes shifting away. “Do you like being outdoors? In...in nature?”

“Nature?”

Cas flushed. Weird. “I mean, do you enjoy hiking, being outdoors, being around...around trees. I hear the redwoods in California are very...large. And, um—”

“Oh, no, I meant fresh air as in driving along the coast with the windows down. All that salt, the warm breezes, you know.”

“I...I see.” Castiel’s face pinched, his eyes squinted as if he was in fact trying to actually see Dean’s meaning, somewhere inside his soul.

Dean shifted uneasily. “So, um, what are you up to today?”

Cas cocked his head to the side. “I am working.”

“I know that, I mean, um, what are you doing today. For, for work.”

Castiel moved back to the cart he’d been pulling behind him, and showed Dean some older texts he’d acquired recently for translation. They actually sounded kind of interesting, even if Cas was being a little vague about what was inside them.

Dean suspected he was avoiding specifics because the books were full of magic-related things, and Cas didn’t want to say that outright. A fair amount of the Special Collections area was supposedly dedicated to other cultures, including the covenborne, but only few of the books were in English, as Dean was discovering.

When Cas trailed off, having run out of things to say, Dean realized he wasn’t holding up his end of the conversation. Which he needed to do, if he was going to keep this whole advancing-the-friendship thing going with Cas. “Doing anything fun this weekend?”

Cas tilted his head again. “I had no particular plans, no.”

“Want to come over to my place? I can make burgers. Or I can get the stuff to make carbonara, and we can do that. I can pick another movie and we can hang out.”

“You want to ‘hang out’ with me?”

He actually used air-quotes. Cute.  _ Stop it. Stop that line of thought right there. Do you like popping awkward boners in front of the man? _

Dean coughed, trying to re-focus. “Uh, yeah? That’s kind of what friends do, ya know?”

“Yes. Yes, we are friends I suppose, aren’t we?”

“Sure, man. Of course. We’ve been living next to one another long enough, I think we qualify.”

Cas seemed sadder at that announcement than Dean was expecting. Most people were happy to find they were considered more than acquaintances, or in this case, neighbors. His face cleared as he began to speak, and Dean dismissed the thought. 

“Then yes, I will see you this weekend.”

“Great, great.” Dean shifted. The stack of books in his arms was getting heavy, and he really needed to get back to re-shelving them before anyone could see which books he had. He could come back and do more research another day.

“Would you like me to get those for you? I can put them away, or take them to the circulation desk if you want to check them out.”

“No, no, I’m—” Dean clutched the books hard when Cas reached for them, but stacks of books weren’t made to be squeezed. They burst out between his forearms, shooting in different directions, two of them hitting Cas in the chest before they crashed to the floor.

Several of the more incriminating covers he’d been hiding landed face up, and his notebook helpfully splayed open to his research, complete with his notes about nature magic and the little ivy doodle he’d done in the margins.

Fuck. Now Cas was going to know he was looking up stuff about witches. About  _ him _ , and the things he could do. He glanced up at Cas, and found the other man standing frozen in place, his eyes wide with shock, staring down at Dean’s notebook.

Dean could feel the guilt and embarrassment burning through him as Cas peered at his notes. Fuck. He’d been sneaking around and doing research about the man’s culture and lifestyle without even bothering to ask him first and that was just...invasive. Fuck.

Not to mention he was clearly looking up stuff about...about. Fuck fuck  _ fuck _ . What if Castiel didn’t know what Dean had been doing in his yard?

The librarian leaned down and picked the notebook up, flipping through several more pages before Dean got himself unstuck. He snatched his research back from Castiel and fled, leaving the incriminating mess on the floor for Cas to deal with.


	13. Chapter 13

— **Castiel**  —

Cas reshelved Dean’s books, pushed his cart back into its storage area, locked it up, and told Hannah he was going home, that he was sick. Cas really did feel sick, complete with the full body ache he associated with the flu, the tremors in his hands, the cold sweats, and the ache in his forearms and under his ribs. All of it.

Quince was waiting for him on the front steps, and he let her in before moving into the kitchen like a summer storm. She scurried past him, her hair standing on end from the energy pouring off him, his magic difficult to control when his emotions were at high tide. He could smell a tinge of ozone, and the lights flickered.  _ Shit. _

“I need to calm down, I have to calm down,” he told her. “Calm, calm, calm.” He took several deep breaths, holding the last one for a count of six before letting it out, but it didn’t help. 

“I don’t even understand why I’m so upset,” he groaned, tugging at his mussed hair with both hands, ruining it further. The lights whined, brightening. “I was going to make the wisteria work for him without my energy, anyway. Why is it so bad, knowing he wants to animate a plant for himself?” 

As if Dean even could.

Assuming Dean managed to acquire the information, it wouldn’t do him any good, not by itself. Especially not if he planned to attempt any spells as an untrained non-witch with no native magical abilities, without any help from a covenborne. He’d need all sorts of amplification rituals and an altar, plus he’d need a night when the veil was thin and magic was rich within the earth. 

It was unlikely Dean even knew he needed those things.

“Those books wouldn’t even have gotten him close,” he told Quince. “The ones I acquired this week might, but I have to translate them first—and even then, the chance is thin I’ll find a complete spell.”

And Cas hadn’t spell-crafted from scratch in a while. It was...frowned upon. Experimentation could be messy.

“Idiot,” he muttered, irritation spiking again, and his microwave and coffeemaker powered on.  _ Shit. _

“You know, I’m so stupid. Until the moment I saw those books, I didn’t even realize that I was still hoping that maybe somehow I was wrong and it would turn out that Dean knew it was me. But, but now—” 

But now, even if Dean knew, Dean didn’t want him to be. Dean was trying to figure out how to animate his own plants, to indulge himself on his own terms.

Without coming into Castiel’s yard.

Somewhere Castiel wouldn’t even get to  _ watch _ .

The open door to his bedroom slammed, and a picture fell off the wall.

Not that he should be watching, anyway, not once—not  _ if _ he could get the vines to work on their own for Dean, but—

But, he wanted to. And this small indulgence, wouldn’t it—

It couldn’t hurt, not really, could it? As long as Dean never knew?

Shit, it would matter if they were friends, it would matter a lot—but it was going to be difficult to be friends like this anyway, when Cas wanted more from Dean, and Dean didn’t need anything from him. Anything at all.

That damn  _ notebook— _

That damn  _ sketch _ in the margins—

That damn frustrating, tempting  _ idiot _ —

Castiel stalked outside. If he got any angrier, he was likely to set his own house on fire by accident.

He just wouldn’t text Dean anymore. If Dean reached out, he’d respond, but that was it, and eventually, Dean would tire of him the same way everyone tired of him, and he wouldn’t even have to see him again after today because—

Well, Castiel would have to see him this weekend. He’d already agreed to a movie at Dean’s house. But after that, he was leaving the man to his own devices.

It would be better for everyone, that way. 

#

The weekend came, and Castiel had made zero headway into figuring out a solution for Dean. One book seemed like it would be promising based on a reference made in another book written a half century later, but the author of the second book was well known as being, well, batshit crazy.

Half the things Castiel had looked up from her writings had been mistranslated, stretched beyond reasonable assumptions, or plain wrong, likely for her own amusement. He’d confronted her about it one time when she’d blown through their coven on a visit, and she’d just cackled and patted his head on her way to the wine.

Worse, Quince had disappeared after his magical outburst the other day, and he missed her. He’d even taken to putting food outside for her, but it hadn’t lured her back. All things considered, Castiel was in poor spirits when it was time for him to visit Dean. 

He didn’t bother bringing mead or snacks with him to Dean’s house. It was probably rude, but Cas just couldn’t care anymore.

Rude was good. Rude would send a message to Dean, that this friendship was likely more trouble than it was worth to the man.

He brushed past with a brusque  _ Hello, Dean, _ and headed for the sofa he could see in the living area behind the man, which contained far too many pillows for one man to use and—

And a small grey cat.

“Quince?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now - the conclusion, in two chapters!

**— Dean —**

“Um, what’s a quince?” Dean stood frozen by the door, confused by Castiel’s odd behavior.

“She—” Cas pointed at the cat curled on top of a pillow, as if the couch itself wasn’t enough fluff for her. “—is a Quince. It’s her name.”

“Uh, no, she’s a Queenie.”

Cas squinted at him. “She’s my cat, and her name is Quince. Just because she ran away a few days ago and you found her—”

“Dude, Queenie’s been coming ‘round for months. She’s—shit, she’s been playing us. You been double-dipping on the fish-and-chips, sweetie?” Dean moved over to the cat and plopped down beside her.

“I don’t feed her ‘fish-and-chips,” Castiel said, making air quotes with his fingers. “Fried foods aren’t healthy for cats.”

“Healthy or ‘healthy’?” Dean grinned.

Castiel just squinted at him some more.

“Never mind,” Dean mumbled. “Hey, everything all right?”

“Everything is fine.”

“You just seem—”

“Everything is fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Dean raised both hands, hoping to placate the clearly irritated man. Probably upset his cat had been splitting her time without his knowledge. Especially if he’d been worried about her. “You want a beer or anything?”

“I am fine.”

“Okay then. Well, I’m gonna get a whiskey, Mr. I Am Fine, so if you change your mind and want to partake in the festivities, let me know.” Dean moved off to the kitchen, grinding his teeth. He needed to can the sass. It’s just…he’d been planning this night since before the—shit, since before the _library_ —and it was not going the way he’d hoped. At all.

He needed to get things back on track. Maybe ordering a pizza would be a better idea than what he’d had planned. He didn’t really want to split his attention between Cas and the stove, not now.

“Any requests for dinner? Gonna get a pizza.”

“Anything is fine.”

Dean bit the side of his cheek, swallowing the response he would’ve made to Sam if he’d gotten that kind of attitude when Dean hadn’t done anything.

Only he had, hadn’t he?

He’d practically stalked the man, looking up shit on witches when Cas hadn’t shared that part of himself. And the other stuff…what if he was repulsed?

But then, why even bother to come over? Fuck.

Should he…say something? Should he wait until Cas said something? Should he make a joke to lighten the mood, and try to bring the topic up later?

He should make a joke.

Or, even better—

“Hey, so we should give our cat a new name. You know, together.”

“What?”

“You know. Since she’s Quince _and_ Queenie, she isn’t really Quince _or_ Queenie. She’s...um, how about Queen Quince? Or...with your hives and stuff, Queen Bee?”

“I like the name Quince. That’s why I named her Quince.”

Fuck. “C’mon, Cas.”

“I don’t see the point in giving her a new name. She has names already that we each can call her.”

“Yeah, but if we’re gonna be hanging out a lot, and she’s with us, it’s gonna be confusing if we keep calling her different things.”

Castiel didn’t answer.

“Work with me here. Oh, how about Q?”

“Q?”

“Yeah, since both her names start with Q, she can be Q.”

“That seems...hm. Naming her after a letter?”

“Nah, man. Q, you know, it can be like, um—” _like, like, like..._ “—like an agent thing, from Men in Black. But not Star Trek, he was a dick.”

Cas cocked his head.

“Dude, Star Trek? Seriously?”

“I have not seen either of those, so I do not understand your references. If you wish to call her Q, you may do so. I will continue to call her by the name I gave her.”

Yeah, this was not going the way Dean had hoped at all.

#

Cas had been so cold tonight.

Distant.

A giant, massive fucking dick, if Dean was being honest. And not the good kind—the shitty, awful, sulky, sucky kind.

Dean had really fucked things up this time. And then he’d gone and killed half a bottle of whiskey by himself on top of it.

_Don’t know why I’m surprised. I’m a fuck up. That’s what fuck ups do, they fuck things up._

_Fuck._

Even discovering they’d been sharing a pet by accident had barely gotten a smile out of the man. Attempts to rename her had just gotten him a squint of disapproval and a refusal to play along.

“You like your new name, don’t you, Agent Q?” he murmured at the cat, petting her gently. “You want to stay with me instead of ol’ grumpy-pants tonight, don’t you?”

At that, she squinted and tilted her head in a gesture that was so _Cas_ his breath caught. Like half-owner, like pet. She jumped down and ran to the door, demanding Dean let her out.

“Fine.” He let her out and watched her disappear towards Castiel’s back door. “Traitor.”

He stepped out onto his back deck, sipping his whiskey and watching as the slip of light flashed bright from Castiel’s house as the other man opened the door and let her in.

Dean wished he had the balls to walk over there himself and beg for some attention, too.

Maybe he should.

Maybe he would.

Fuck it, what was the worst that could happen, at this point?

#

If Dean had any doubt that Cas was in control of the plant, and that Cas was really fucking angry at Dean right now, both of those points were put to rest in a hurry.

Dean almost screamed for him to stop once, the vines working over his body in a frenzy, but they calmed just before he was pushed into the unpleasant kind of pain. Even so, he was hovering on the edge of a bad headspace for a while, feeling like Cas might be punishing him for real instead of for fun.

And it _hurt_ , the way the vines came down against his skin, raising welt after welt everywhere on his body. But part of him needed it to hurt. He needed Cas to be angry at him, to work it out on his body, to scream and fight and push, to get it out of his system. To take it out of Dean. To forgive him.

At some point, Dean registered that vines were coiled tight around his dick and pushing into his barely prepped hole, even as Cas continued abusing the rest of his body. It launched him straight out of his body and deep into the floaty part of his mind, his back arching as the pain swung fully into an exquisite kind of pleasurable need.

Castiel ratcheted him higher and higher, and when he finally gave Dean the right kind of pressure and friction where Dean needed it most, he shook apart with a scream.

"Oh my God, Cas!”


	15. Chapter 15

—  **Castiel —**

_ Shit. Shit, he knew. He knew he knew he knew he knew _

“Cas?”

Shit.

It had been wrong to indulge Dean when Cas was so upset, when he wasn’t fully in control of himself. He knew that, and he should ask the man’s forgiveness. But mother help him, he’d thought that this might’ve been the last time he could be with the man, and he wanted to see him come apart.

If the man liked pain, Castiel wanted to give him what he needed, and make sure he’d never find the likes of it again from someone else. He needed Dean to remember how good it was for days, even if he didn’t know or want it to be at Castiel's hands. Wanted Dean to ache the way he ached, every twitch of fabric against his abused skin a reminder of how he’d spent this evening.

And for once, he wanted him to scream as he found his release, their other neighbors be damned. But he hadn’t expected Dean to scream his name.

“Cas?”

He stood from where he was hiding behind the bushes on shaky legs. “You knew?”

Dean moved closer, then stopped and grabbed a shirt to hold in front of his softening cock. “I—I mean, I’d hoped.”

“Oh.”

Dean huffed, leaning against a tree. “Yeah, oh.”

Cas shook himself, then went over and pulled Dean’s arm across his shoulder, supporting his weight. “I’m so sorry, Dean, I shouldn’t have—”

“Dude, don’t. It was awesome.”

“It was?”

“Yeah. Just, can you—”

“Anything, Dean.”

“Can you...hold me, now?”

“Of course.” Cas carried him inside, shooing Quince—Agent Q, he reminded himself—out of the way as he went. “I have a tincture I can mix up for you that will take the sting out of these weals.”

“So you are a witch, after all.”

Oh, right. They had more than one thing to discuss. “Mmhm.”

“Um, nature magic, I’m guessing?”

“Yes.” He set Dean on the couch, but the man kept his arms wrapped around Cas, not letting him go. “I’ll be right back, Dean. Let me get some water warming.”

“It...um, it won’t make the marks go away entirely, will it?”

Castiel paused. “No.”

“Good.” Dean’s voice was soft, barely audible, but it brought a smile from Cas that he could feel crinkling his eyes.

#

Dean was almost asleep, curled against Castiel in his bed, when he mumbled something unintelligible.

“Yes, Dean?”

“We...we can keep doing this, right? I mean, like, we’re a thing now, or whatever?”

“Doing…what, exactly?”

“Cuddling. Sex. Boyfriends. Whatever.”

“Oh, so you don’t do things like this with all your friends and neighbors then? I thought you might take after Quin—after Q.”

Dean shoved at his arm, too softly to dislodge it. “Shut it. She’s a lady.”

“Yes, I would like a relationship with you, Dean.”

He flushed. “Good. Um, so can we—not now, of course—but, um,  _ touching _ doesn’t drain your powers or anything, does it?”

“No?”

“I mean, sex?”

“Sex what?”

“Does sex drain your magic?”

“No.”

“So virgin witches—”

“The benefits of purity only apply to certain sub-classes of casting, which I don’t partake in.”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

“But…just so you know, there’s an entire class of spells and rituals I’ve never worked with because they require a partner.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm. How do you feel about being naked in the backyard?”

Dean punched his arm, and Cas couldn’t really complain. He probably deserved it.

Probably.

#

The first time they had sex inside, Cas made love to him. The tincture helped the marks he’d left on Dean’s skin heal quickly, but they were still faintly pink the night they fell onto the bed together, Dean laughing that beautiful laugh.

It turned into a moan quickly, as Cas tugged his shirt up and began tracing the marks with his tongue, following them and sucking lightly at the skin.

It only took a moment to get Dean undressed and spread out on Castiel’s bed, soft and pliant and waiting. Wanting.

Cas pulled off his own shirt, but left his jeans for now, wanting to focus on Dean’s pleasure first, as he had in the yard so many times now. But this time was special—this time, Cas was able to touch Dean himself, was able to feel the skin pebbling with goosebumps under the callouses on the tips of his fingers. Feel the shift of Dean’s weight, the rise and fall of his ribs as his breath caught, then started, then caught, his body trembling and eager.

“So good for me, Dean,” he whispered against the skin, and when Dean whimpered, he filed that knowledge away for later.

“Cas—”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

He kissed the marks on Dean’s chest, following the welts across his nipples and up to his collarbone. He kissed his way back down his ribs, then along his sharp hip bones, dodging where Dean wanted him to go, skipping down to his thighs, his knees, and the insides of his ankles, suckling lightly at the knob of bone until Dean was writhing.

He nibbled at the arches of Dean’s feet until he twitched, then pressed them against the swollen flesh still caught behind his jeans.

“Cas!”

“Mmm, would you like this?”

“Please…”

“I’m not sure…”

“Please, Cas, please. God, please, I want you in me.”

Arousal spiked in his bloodstream, and he surged up to claim the other man’s mouth, pinning him beneath his body. All the things he wanted to do to him, all the things he’d imagined while he was giving Dean pleasure in the yard, those things could wait.

He prepped Dean quickly, scissoring two fingers inside him, forced to hold him still to keep him from fucking himself on Castiel’s fingers. “So beautiful, such a good boy.”

“Please, please, please, Cas, please—”

“Mmmmm.” He worked a third finger in, then pulled out abruptly. “Are you sure, Dean?”

“Oh, God, get in me.”

“I’m not God, I’m Castiel.”

Dean groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. “You better be glad you’re hot. C’mon, Cas. Quit fuckin’ around and—”

“I thought you wanted me to ‘fuck around’, Dean, isn’t that—”

“Cas—”

He kissed the other man’s protest away, then rolled the condom on and slicked himself before pushing inside. Dean’s wet heat was everything he’d imagined it would be, and he longed to move, but even more so, he wanted to see Dean come apart when he didn’t.

Castiel seated himself fully, his hips pressing Dean down into the mattress, his weight solid and holding the man in place, impaled. “You like being full, don’t you, Dean?”

“Cas, move, c’mon, I’m ready, I can take it, please—”

He pressed down harder, grinding slightly against him, but refusing to pump in and out. “You like being split open, don’t you? Stretched around me?”

“Cas, oh please—”

He gave a few short thrusts, still seated fully, just rocking the other man’s body back and forth, making sure he was aware of every inch stretching him open. “Would you like something, Dean?”

“Move!”

He kissed Dean hard, claiming him, and gave him what he wanted.

Castiel would always give him what he wanted. Anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, my dears. This is it - for the main story.
> 
> There will be some timestamps in this 'verse, both for the Destiel Smut Bingo, and in general. (I have at least three planned — one sweet and fluffy, one where Dean assists Castiel with his spell work, and one for my smut bingo square 'Desperation', if that's your thing.)
> 
> Those will be posted as separate works in a series so I can tag them with specific kink warnings. Make sure you go to my main page and subscribe to my account, and not just this fic (if you haven't already) if you want to get the notifications when they post.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr under the same username [Adaille](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/adaille).
> 
> I post timestamps as separate works in a series, so if you want to make sure you see them, you can subscribe to my account.
> 
> I'd like to thank [suckerfordeansfreckles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/suckerfordeansfreckles/pseuds/suckerfordeansfreckles) again for being such an awesome beta reader and cheerleader on this fic. Thank you!
> 
> If you liked this fic, you might also like my other fic in which Castiel controls plants for Dean’s benefit: [Pierced](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14687751).


End file.
